


crystalline

by ladyoftheshipping



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Period-Typical Homophobia, Whiterose, although its pretty mild, ish/, it was supposed to be a 30 years' war AU but it sort of just wrote itself this way idk man, its like...a 1700s ish au, like. super mild. just wanted to tag, there's homophobia buT a happy ending i swear..., y'know ~just incase~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10125851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoftheshipping/pseuds/ladyoftheshipping
Summary: Weiss Schnee is the Princess of Atlas. Ever since she was born, she's known her place in life: to get married to a rich man of high standing. She's had a lifetime to make peace with it.But one day, a scythe-wielding redhead walks into her life and, well, what if she doesn't want to?





	1. tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> ** trigger warning later in the story for mild homophobia (don't worry, it's preeetty light, BUT just wanted to make it clear, in case cause I know not everyone reads tags)
> 
> Uuuuhhh so I don't really have much to say,,, I started writing this literal months ago and remembered it existed about five hours ago and here we are rn
> 
> I have a pretty clear-cut plan as to where I want to go with this and next chapter will come sometime within this month, its gonna be three chapters total so *finger guns* stick around
> 
> anyway i hope you guys enjoy :^)

How I hate attending balls.

It’s not like I have a choice--I am, of course, a Schnee, and Schnees have a duty to uphold, a name to protect. But that doesn’t change the fact that I despise the events.

In my twenty years of living, I have never truly met someone who speaks what they mean. Who says what they want, unbridled by the unwritten social laws that govern this land. You’d think that being heiress to the throne would free me from that burden, but instead, it shackles me down.

They watch me constantly, and I am to do only what Father wants me to do. It’s unbearable. Normally I bide my time in my room, or, during the night, when I sneak out to practice with Myrtenaster. It’s not so bad then. But at balls, I have no escape. That’s the main reason why I hate them.

The second reason is because, while masqueraded as a simple party, there are more cynical intentions behind every gathering. Father treats every one of them like it is some kind of business affair. When he tells me to talk to a noble, it isn’t simply to get to know them better. I am expected to charm them, to fool them into someone I’m not, and--at least, my father hopes--do this well enough to convince a suitor of the proper background to offer his hand in marriage.

After all, I’m twenty; if I don’t marry soon, I’ll be reduced to nothing more than a liability to the Schnee family.

It didn’t used to be this way, always. My grandfather, Nicholas Schnee, established our reign in the kingdom of Atlas. I don’t remember very much of him, but I know that he was a good-hearted man. He changed Atlas. We went from being a small kingdom with a subpar economy to one of the greatest superpowers of our corner of the world in but a generation. But the expansion of our nation wasn’t the greatest thing he did, nor the most radical. He was the first monarch in centuries to care for and love the people--to try to understand them. He made conditions better. From what I’ve heard, he was kind and understanding, almost like a father.

His death nearly tore the kingdom apart. If it weren’t for my father, Jacques Schnee, who knows where d have been? Father allowed for a smooth transition of power. To the public, he’s everything my grandfather was: warm, kind, responsible. Behind closed doors, he’s anything but.

And here I am, Weiss Schnee, a product of careful intermarriage and a strict upbringing. Since birth, I’ve been trained to be the prim, proper, instruction-following tool that my parents want me to be. And I’ve played along.

But that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy doing so.

Take today as an example. Father is hosting a ball in the Schnee palace, and I’ll be forced to entertain our guests. I’ll do it, of course--the consequences of not doing so outweigh the benefit of doing what I want so severely that it’s not even nearly worth it.

I sigh as I fasten the gown I’m wearing. I’m adorned in the family colors--white and blue. Everything is in its place, every button fastened, the collar adjusted, the silver necklace exactly centered.

Naturally, my eyes wander around the room. To my large canopy bed, to the door that leads to the balcony. Underneath that bed, behind a false wall, tucked away in a box, is the rapier that my sister, Winter, bought me as a present. She told me to hide it well, and I did, with the help of the family butler, Klein.

Winter is one of the only parts of the Schnee family that I don’t utterly despise. She’s older than me by nearly ten years, and as a child, we rarely interacted. After all, I had my studies, and by the time I was old enough to  _ want  _ to speak to her, she was already married off to some important person from another kingdom. We gather at least once a month for a family dinner, and we’ve bonded quite a bit.

I wouldn’t call it the ideal sister relationship, but she’s all I have. And we genuinely care for each other, which is more than I can say for nearly everyone I know. Besides, she’s done more for me than I can fathom.

She’s why I have Myrtenaster, and for that I am eternally grateful.

At night, I slip down the balcony and spar. Sometimes with Winter, if she’s nearby, but usually with Klein. The old man is a bit rusty, but he did attend military school back in the day, and he proves a worthy opponent. I’m proud to say that my skills have improved sharply since I’ve began. 

During the day time, none of us mention it, because both of us know that if  _ any  _ word of such activities reaches my father, we’ll be punished. 

When my father gets angry, bad things happen.

* * *

 My door creaks open and a rather young woman wearing a plain white dress enters. “Princess Schnee, are you awake?”

I’ve never seen her before, but I know who she is instantly. One of our maids. We go through them like my mother went through fashion trends. “Of  _ course  _ I’m awake; what else would I be?”

The woman bows her head respectfully. “Pardon, Princess Schnee--I thought, perchance you were taking your afternoon nap.”

I shoot the woman the angriest look I can muster. This isn’t her fault, of course; I  _ know _ that. But it doesn’t matter. “Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you should. In the afternoon, I read. I think you have me confused with my  _ child _ brother, Whitley.”

“I’m very sorry, Princess Schnee.”

I sit up on my bed. “Have you come to dawdle, or do you have an actual purpose in being here?”

“I’ve just come to tell you that your father expects you in the ballroom in ten minutes, and he wants you to be dressed.”

“Is that all?”

“He says that the Arc family will be there, and he expects you to be on your best behavior, as always.”

“Noted. You may leave now.”

I’ve never seen anyone move so fast as she did then and there. She scurried out of the door like a frightened little mouse. I suppose I could have been nicer, but I’ve never liked servants. Klein being the exception, of course.

Besides, “nice” isn’t exactly a part of the Schnee vocabulary.

I heave myself off of the bed. It’s still midday, and the sun shines outside brightly. It’s summer, so I expect it to illuminate the earth for hours yet. I won’t be late; I made that mistake once, and it’s one I’ll never make again.

More than anything, Father  _ hates  _ when people can’t follow directions.

* * *

The ballroom, like everything the Schnee family owns, is elegant, sophisticated, and so expensive-looking you’d have thought there isn’t enough money in the world to buy such a thing. It’s pure white, with sweeping arches and Corinthian marble columns. A large diamond chandelier hangs from the middle of the circular room, under which there will be, soon, a number of people dancing. To the front, directly across from the center, is a stage. Already the best orchestra that can be assembled so quickly has taken the stage.

My shoes, slightly heeled with silver buckles, the newest in trends, are loud against the tiled floor. Father hears me before he sees me, and greets me before I have actually entered the room.

He nods at me. “Weiss. We have much business to attend to.”

He’s doesn’t waste his breath on any unnecessary words.

“Yes, Father. The maid told me that the Arcs will be attending?”

“They will be. I’ve been,” he paused, “corresponding with the head of the Arc family. Weiss, you’re twenty years old, and I’ve decided that it’s high time you find a suitor. The youngest of the household, Jaune Arc, is a good candidate. He comes from a long family of nobility--decorated knights, back in the Dark Ages. You’ve met the Arcs before, have you not?”

I nod yes. I am careful not to smile nor frown. 

“Anyway, I want you to talk to him. You remember your manners, I’m sure. Dance with him. If you behave correctly, by the end of the night, you’ll have a suitor.” He smiles at me in a way that I think is supposed to be reassuring. Am I supposed to want this? He turns around sharply. “I expect you to greet our guests warmly. You’ll do that, right?”

“I will, Father.”

I hear his footsteps as he leaves.

I think anyone else in this position would be furious, blinded by rage. Or overwhelmingly sad. In any case, bursting with emotion. Feeling  _ something.  _

But I’ve been expecting this for years, and Jaune Arc is just one of many men I’ve been expected to entertain at an occasion like this. I’ve become so numbed down I don’t even really care what happens to me.

And, if my stars align, perhaps this Jaune Arc fellow will allow me a small sample of freedom.

* * *

 It’s still early. The sun hasn’t set, but the sky is a deep shade of orange, something we don’t see often. Here in Atlas it’s always cold and dark, and right now, at the cusp of winter, colder and darker yet. It’s ideal for sneaking out during the night—outside, it’s so dark that the only thing that can be seen of me is the glimmer of my rapier in the light of the stars—but during the hours in which I’m supposed to be awake, it’s actually rather gloomy. At least the sun, the organic warmth of it shining on my cheeks, is pleasant.

It’s no matter. I’m a Schnee. We  _ thrive  _ in the cold. 

We’re supposed to, anyway. 

I’m hungry. 

I’m the last person to complain about it, but where are my handmaidens? Being alone in silence is nice—their constant jabbering  _ annoys  _ me—but it’s rather odd that there are none. Father makes sure I’m surrounded by them at all times, in a combination of his lack of trust in me and  the sense of danger that follows us Schnees wherever we go. The latter is inescapable, but the former has always been there ever since Winter. The disappointment among our family. Among Father, at least. He didn’t like it when she became the military commander of Mantle—a smaller territory annexed by Atlas. He said it was quite unladylike. She didn’t particularly care, and there was little he could do about it. Her husband is a nice man.

I wish she visited more. 

I have little to do here except sit around. Father wants me to remain nearby, and there isn’t very much to do anyway. I’m already dressed. The ball is to begin at sundown; we have an hour at least till then. I would tell one of my handmaidens to fetch me a book to read, but they’re not here.

I guess I should take advantage of that while I can.

* * *

There is a fortepiano here, one which I have been taught to play. Quite frankly, the simple melodies I have been instructed to know  _ bore _ me. And I have a ridiculous amount of spare time on my hands, so sometimes… on days when I really have nothing to do… I write my own.

I’m not very musically talented, I’ll tell you that much; and I’m ashamed to share even this much about myself. But the days are so very long, so very boring, and I have so very little.

God, I wish the days were shorter. My only solace from the omnipresent boredom that haunts me day to day is the nighttime. Sparring, using Myrtenaster, gives me a sense of purpose. Of course, if you asked anyone else, they’d say that my purpose in life would be to marry some rich and important heir, but I could care less about that. 

I start by playing what I know. Drills, ingrained so deeply into my mind that they make their way into my dreams. Each scale, one by one, and the diatonic chords. Cadences that better belong in a church choir. Once I’ve warmed up well enough -- slender, pale fingers stretching out to over an octave -- I let myself wander over the keys. I hum a tune that’s made its way into my head lately, and play the accompanying harmony. I don’t forget the rules which have been given to me, the painfully bland progressions that have become a part of me; I wish I could, but they’re all I know.

“Wow, that sounds really great --”

As fast as physically possible, a deep grimace makes its way onto my face and I turn around abruptly. “Who are you? Who gave you the permission to be here?”

The offender is a young girl -- clearly a servant, by the looks of her plain and somewhat dirty red dress. She at least has the basic decency to allow her painfully large smile to somewhat fade before she addresses me again. “I’m so sorry, Princess Schnee! I, uh, your-- your, uh, father, I mean the King --”

My eyes narrow. “You  _ dolt _ ! What has he sent you here for?”

“Uh, well, he kind of just told me to watch over you and follow whatever directions you gave me?” She laughs nervously -- the  _ audacity  _ \-- and her gaze drops to the floor. “Sorry?”

I huff unhappily but realize there’s little I can do about it. If Father has told her to watch over me, there’s really no way I can get rid of her. That doesn’t stop me from giving her a scaldingly harsh glare. I grit my teeth, blinded by fury, and make out, “You will not bother me. You will stand in the corner of this room, and you will  _ not _ say another word.”

Another nervous laugh. “Aye aye, captain!” 

I resist the urge to scream.

Clearly by the look on my face she realizes what she’s done, and quickly gets out of my line of sight. A wise decision, as I think I might have just strangled her then and there if she had remained for another minute, Father be damned.

I do not continue to play the fortepiano. I can’t find it within me. Already my day ruined, and the ball hasn’t even started yet. I stare out the window instead, wondering what it’s like to be free of balls and marrying Jaune Arc.

* * *

By the time of the ball, the girl is back, and to my utter dismay, the smile is, too. We walk together in complete silence, save for the clicking of my shoes against the marble floor. Due to the sheer size of the palace, t’ll be a few minutes until we arrive at the ballroom again.

“Are you excited for the ball, Princess Schnee?”

“No, and I thought I told you to be quiet.”

“I know you did, but I just have a few questions! Please?” 

I want to say no, to threaten to have Father fire her… to never see her again, to put her out on the streets where she can never bother me again -- how  _ lovely _ that sounds -- but something within me tells me not to. I look into her large, gray, pleading eyes and sigh. Maybe it’s because I’m horribly lonely, or maybe it’s because I’m weak-willed. “ _ One _ question.”

Her grin gets wider. I wonder if her face will snap in half. Half of me wishes it will. “I’m so excited let me think! Okay, why don’t you like going to balls? I mean, I can understand why not, a little bit cause I can’t really talk to people -- well, I’m talking to you but I think you hate me so you know I’m not really good at it but I’m rambling now so -- you’re so good at talking to people and everyone loves you I thought you liked going to balls?”

It comes out as one entire sentence; she doesn’t stop at any point to breathe. Briefly, I wonder if she doesn’t have to. I respond honestly because I know that if she ever tells a living soul, I could send her to be executed on a whim. “I hate everything about them. They serve no purpose except to show off our family’s wealth and… to try to  _ sell  _ me off, like I’m an object. Quite frankly, I’d rather do  _ anything  _ else.”

The girl nods, but I scowl at her. “You wouldn’t understand. I don’t know why I’m even entertaining your questions. You’re just a servant.”

Her eyebrows furrow, but she never loses the smile. “Well, maybe I am just a servant! But, still, I think I understand how you feel.”

I stop in my tracks and let out a humorless laugh. “ _ You? _ Understand me? Pray tell, how?”

She stops too. I’m not angry anymore, really; not even irritated. All of this just feels so...surreal. I’m Weiss Schnee. Why am I humoring this servant girl?

“Well, I know it’s not nearly as bad, but… my family wants me to get married soon, and I don’t really want to. And -- and I know it’s not my place, I’m just a servant girl from a poor family, and they’re really nice about it, too, they’d never make me do something I don’t want to do, but I can’t just not get married. I have to. I can’t just  _ not _ , you can’t do that. Right?”

I look out into the distance. “I never thought I would say this, but you’re right about one thing. There’s nothing any of us can do about it. I have to go to the ball, and I have to marry Jaune Arc, and that’s it.”

We continue walking, both in silence, but for some reason it’s… comfortable. Most of the time, my handmaidens already know not to talk to me already. I’m not a fool. I know how they whisper about me when they think I don’t hear. They call me spoiled, rotten, insolent. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I know who I am. When I walk with them, the silence feels forced, threatening; with the girl beside me, it feels almost serene.

I don’t even know her name.

She’s a servant girl. A peasant.

We’re not even friends.

Looking towards her, I note that she is not… unattractive. Really, for a servant, she looks quite nice, although there is nothing to her that is particularly different, save for the smile she seems unable to shake off. She has shoulder-length red-brown hair, and eyes like I’ve never seen before -- I cannot quite tell what color they are. On closer inspection, they are silver.

What am I doing? She’s a servant girl.

When we arrive at the ballroom, I go through the large doors without a second glance. Instantly, all eyes turn towards me and I force my grimace into what is not quite a smile.

“Introducing Her Highness, Princess Weiss Schnee of Atlas!”

I curtsy. Everyone claps politely. 

They all hate me. I’m not supposed to know that. I hate all of them. They’re not supposed to know, either.

I have a feeling, however, that there are no misconceptions between us. We know exactly the other party’s intentions, and we know that they know ours. But we play this game; we dance around it, because that is what polite, high-society individuals such as us do.

How I hate balls.

* * *

It is not twenty minutes till Father introduces me to Jaune Arc. I’m not sure, but I believe it’s a personal record.

“Princess Schnee, how lucky I am to have made your acquaintance,” he says, and I hate him instantly. He looks to be no older than I am, but much taller, with blonde hair and a flirtatious grin on his face. 

“And I yours,” I respond cooly. 

“What brings  _ you _ here today on this fine occasion?” he asks.

Is he serious? “I’m the one hosting it.”

“Oh,” he says. “Heh, I… forgot about that. Silly me.”

I stare at him for a moment, and he stares back. He looks quite nervous. Maybe I could have been nicer, but I don’t think Father noticed, so I don’t particularly regret anything. Except maybe having this conversation.

“So, um, do you want to dance?”

“It would be my honor,” I say flatly, but his face lights up anyway.

‘Well, then, let’s go, my snow angel,” and he holds out his hand for me to take.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

In reflection, it hadn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.

It had been worse. Jaune Arc was a bumbling fool. Not an unkind one, but a fool nonetheless. I need to leave this palace. Just for tonight, just so I can get some fresh air -- so I can have a night of freedom before it is taken away.

Quiet as is possible, I take Myrtenaster out of its box under my bed. I change into one of my less nice dresses -- the one I had begged father to buy me because it was ‘in fashion this season,’ but really it was more practical for the more complex spins and twirls I practice. I strap Myrtenaster to my back, open the large doors to my balcony and close them without making a noise.

I do as I have so many times before: I climb down, the path memorized after the trial and error of many years. I used to fear falling from here, but no longer. After all, being afraid will do nothing but make me nervous, and I can’t afford to doubt myself.

Then I might  _ really  _ fall.

My regular spot is one in the gardens, secluded even during the daytime. Not many people know of its existence, maybe not even the gardeners, from the look of the weeds growing from the earth. It’s a small clearing amidst finely trimmed geometrical hedges and exotic fruit trees imported from the ends of the earth. Really, it’s less of a place and more of a lack of one; since there’s nothing here except grass and the occasional tree. Nothing was ever constructed in this little corner of the garden, since it’s so far away from the palace.

Less known is that it’s the perfect place for sparring. The palace guards ever come here, since they never really patrol the back of the palace anyway (really an oversight on Father’s part, but I’m not complaining).

But today is different. Usually the only thing I hear is the cawing of the occasional bird, or the wind’s howling, but today there’s something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it until I draw nearer.

It’s… a person. I can hear their voice, distantly. But that doesn’t make any sense; nobody is supposed to be here. Not in the daytime, and certainly not during the night.

When the realization hits me. I’m such a dolt -- someone is trying to break into the palace!

It’s a good thing I’m armed. Myrtenaster hasn’t been sharpened lately, but that’s of no matter; it’s still deadly, and I’m prepared.

I’ve been training for  _ something  _ all my life; this might as well be it. Maybe this is my purpose. Maybe I can be like Winter.

As I grow closer, I can discern the voice; it’s familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place it. It’s definitely high pitched, but they’re not saying anything as much as they are… grunting? And occasionally yelling?

As I enter the clearing at last, I draw the rapier. I can’t see very well; the darkness shrouds the clearing, and we are lit only by the nighttime stars.

“Halt!” I yell, voice not quavering. “Show yourself!”

The attacker lets out a noise of surprise.

“I said  _ show yourself! _ ”

“Wait, no!” the attacker says. “I’m not… wait a second,  _ Princess Schnee _ ?” The voice seems belongs to a woman, which is surprising, but quite frankly, I don’t care -- I’m prepared to fend off attackers of any gender.

But at the same time, the voice is familiar. I walk towards it, sword lowered slightly, but I never drop my attention for the slightest. “Who are you?”

“It’s me! Ruby!”

“...Who?”

“Ruby? Ruby Rose? Oh, I realize I never told you my name, but I’m the --”

I gaze into familiar silver eyes and everything clicks into place.

“It’s you! You’re the servant girl from the ball!” I yelped. “And now you’re betraying the palace and you’re going to try to kill us all!”

I knew it. I knew I couldn’t trust her. I have no friends here; there is nobody in this world I can really, truly trust except for myself.

What a fool I was to fall for that kind smile.

“No, I’m not doing any of that!” I’m feet away from her at this point, and I can make out a large weapon of some kind. It appears to be… a scythe? A bit of an unusual choice for a secret attacker, considering it’s  _ gigantic. _

“Then what reason do you possibly have to be out here in the middle of the night with that… thing?” I seethe, pointing to the maybe-scythe.

“Nononnonononono this is NOT what it looks like! I’m just trying to practice with Crescent Rose, I’m not trying to attack anything!” she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. “Wait a minute, why are  _ you  _ out here in the middle of the night?”

I lower the rapier at last, not completely trusting yet but at least certain that this puny girl isn’t a threat to me. “Same as you. I come here to practice. Who is Crescent Rose? Is she your accomplice?”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Accomplice…? Oh, no,  _ no _ ! Crescent Rose is my baby, uh, my scythe --” she gives it a test spin. “I’ve had it since I was a kid. It’s kind of a family tradition; we come from a line of knights, back in the old days, and, well… I built her myself.”

“Fascinating.”

We stare at each other for a few moments. “Do you want to maybe… spar?”

“Yes, I would.”


	2. nothing but the candle in the mirror

“Weiss. Are you listening to me?”

I turn my head abruptly and nod, every motion practiced and perfect. “Yes, of course.” Despite it not really being so, it sounds sincere, a skill I’ve learned to develop over the years.

Father’s ubiquitous grimace deepens further, a feat I had previously thought impossible. “You should look more attentive when I’m addressing you. When anyone is, for that matter. This is a matter of  _ grave _ importance.”

“Sorry, Father. I won’t do it again.” I do not express it outwardly, but I wonder, yet another time, what his true purpose in dragging me out here is.

We rarely speak face to face. On occasion, he sends his servants as messengers, but they are for little more than reminders such as ‘The archduke is stopping by for dinner; make sure to wear something  _ nice  _ for once’ and ‘What did you think of Lord Marigold? Would you be willing to marry him? Did he seem interested in you?’.

That’s why today’s meeting is odd -- I can’t think of anything important that happened lately, or any reason as to why he would be calling me here. He seems bored, so I don’t think anyone is ill or has died. I haven’t particularly done anything he would disapprove of lately, although with Father one always has to be careful, as any innocent act can be altered by his tongue to suddenly be ‘rude,’ ‘demeaning,’ ‘insulting,’ ‘shameful,’ and a myriad of other redundant adjectives.

“Father, I must ask -- why have you called me here today?”

“Let me cut to the chase, Weiss. You are too old now to be unmarried. It is unsuitable for you to further be single.”

I stare at him. Nothing new or particularly important so far.

“I’ve arranged for your marriage to Duke Jaune Arc of Vale,” he says. There is no change in his tone while he says these words; no emotion at all. It is clean, clinical, and most of all, it is already done. There is nothing I can do or say to change his mind. “Of course, many of the details are uncertain, still, but he’s a good match. Comes from a  _ very _ important family -- this marriage might be just what we need to strike up an alliance with Vale.”

I blink. It is not unexpected, but still… it is rather sudden. I need time to process this. “Okay,” I say mechanically. “Is that all?”

“Yes. The Arc family will be over tomorrow for dinner tomorrow night; I trust you can behave yourself.”

“Of course.”

“Then you may be excused,” he says, smiling.

 

* * *

 

As I walk back to my room, I contemplate the oddity of my situation.  Not the marriage -- I’ve seen it coming for awhile, and at this point I’m too numb to care -- but rather Ruby. what a strange girl she is. I haven’t spoken to Ruby Rose in three weeks, but she still consumes my waking hours.

Ever since that night, I’ve had so many questions -- what was she doing there, and why? Where did she get that giant scythe from? Where does she even  _ put  _ it? (Seriously, hiding Myrtenaster is enough of a challenge for me -- her scythe is larger than she is!)

But these questions have remained unanswered. I haven’t been able to find Ruby ever since that night. Part of me is sad; I actually….had  _ enjoyed  _ her presence. 

That’s new. I always hated my servants. But when I spoke to Ruby, I felt as if I could say what I actually  _ wanted  _ to say. I’ve never felt that way before. 

She was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. 

A  _ real  _ friend, that is. I don’t mean the friends that I made as a child -- they weren’t really even my friends. They were the daughters and sons of nobility, many of them prospects for my marriage, all of them arranged to be my friends through Father. 

How pathetic I am, latching onto a servant girl I barely talked to.

I realize I’ve been walking in the wrong direction for the past few minutes. Instead of heading inwards, to where my room is, I’ve steadily been making my way towards the gardens.

Well, it’s a nice day... I might as well.

 

* * *

 

My spot is as deserted in the daytime as it is in the nighttime. 

It’s strange; I’ve never really been here at this time before. You can’t tell unless you look very, very closely, but there are signs of my presence here. Trees with branches slashed off cleanly, entire patches of grass missing from practice gone wrong.

Being at the very outskirts of the castle -- beyond here is just the forest, for miles and miles, into the unknown -- there’s no place to sit, no benches or even large, conveniently placed logs. I don’t think this is even officially a part of the garden, in fact; it’s a good distance from the path. There’s a few flowers here, growing here and there, between the thick weeds and grass, but that’s the extent of this place’s maintenance.

I decide that I don’t care about ruining my dress. Father will just buy me another one, anyway. I sit directly on the dirt, not caring about the stains that are inevitably marking my white dress.

Curse white being the official Schnee color. I don’t care what anyone says. Elegant as it may be, it’s not practical in the least. Although, come to think of it, maybe it does fit -- being rich enough to surpass practicality is  _ very _ much a Schnee quality. Maybe Father was right.

And it  _ was  _ Father, and not Grandfather, who made all these changes. We didn’t even live in this palace until Father decided that it would be more proper for us, being the new royal family and all, to stay here. 

Father never talks about him. Nor did Mother, when she was still healthy and still cared. He died before any of us -- even Winter, the eldest -- was born. But from what I’ve read, and heard in passing from the servants, he was a nice man. Of course one can’t trust all that they’ve read. From what I’ve read of Father, he’s framed to be a nice man as well. I’ve taken it with a grain of salt.

But sometimes I wonder how life would be like if he were still alive. I’ve only ever had Father, and his parenting skills are… well, he’s not the  _ nicest  _ or the most loving. All of the little girls I’ve read about in fairy tales and stories growing up (mind you, most of them read to me by Klein) had parents who loved them. A compassionate, graceful, and importantly,  _ present _ mother and a caring, willing father.

The only person even close to that description is Klein.

And he’s our butler.

Well, I shouldn’t be so unkind to the man who practically raised me -- he’s always been there for me in my times of need. He used to have a daughter and a wife, I’ve heard. But they died of some terrible illness.

Him, and his father before him, have been with the family for many years, the most valued of all our hired help. But at the end of the day, they’re just that -- hired help.

I have to remind myself that they -- Klein,  _ Ruby _ , all the others who try to play nice to me -- aren’t really my friends.

I don’t have any real friends.

I suppose to some that would be a distressing revelation, but, honestly? I’ve never  _ had  _ friends. The prospect of making them is scarier than my lack of them.

I’ve never been allowed to own my feelings. I don’t even know how to start.

Oh. It’s getting dark. I better get going. How long have I been here?

 

* * *

 

When I enter the parlour, I am immediately greeted by a tall, thin woman who talks to me calmly. Her body language, however, betrays anxiety. I recognize her as a servant, one that my father has taken a liking to recently. She is not much older than I am, and her dark hair is tied up into a bun. 

“Your father was  _ very  _ worried about you. Where were you?” She asks. The words are slow but there is a… franticness to them.

“I was just in the garden,” I answered, arms crossing. “I’m allowed to walk around the palace in which I  _ live.  _ Am I not?” This is all quite strange; usually I go about as I please. After all, even though I’m stuck here, I’m still the princess. I know that I have to do whatever Father says, but other than that… I’m not  _ trapped. _ (Am I?)

“We searched all over for you,” she says. “Do you know how long it’s been?”

I don’t.

“It’s been hours; your father was...very angry,” she says, suddenly tensing. I feel bad for her now, almost. My father is quite the sight when he’s angry. “Anyway,” she continues, “you missed dinner. He had...  _ quite _ a scare.” She makes a sour face that suggests the recall of bad memories. “Said that he thought you might have… left.”

_ Oh.  _ So he’s suspicious of me. Thinks I’ll end up like Winter did.

I frown. “Tell him not to worry. I simply was getting some fresh air outside.” I smile humorlessly. “I was so excited when I heard about Duke Arc’s proposal of marriage that I needed to calm myself. Is that all?”

She seems relieved, and noticeably relaxes. “One more thing. Your father had a message for you. He would rather deliver it in person, but he was… occupied elsewhere. He told me to tell you that you need be on your best behavior for tomorrow’s dinner, and he hopes you haven’t forgotten. Also, he’s assigning a personal handmaiden for you; said that, being engaged and all, you might need some help with things.”

“Excuse me? Help with  _ what _ ?!” 

I realize I am being loud when all eyes turn to me. They quickly turn back after they see my livid gaze sweep the room -- challenging them.

I continue, slightly slower, slightly quieter, but there is no question that I am just as frantic as I was in the last question. “Tell Father that this is completely unnecessary. He has no reason to punish me -- I was just in the garden, I lost track of the time. I’ll be more careful next time, I didn’t know it was late --” 

“I’m sorry, Princess Schnee,” she says, “I don’t have anything to do with this. I’m just the messenger. There is truly nothing I can do,” she says nervously. “This is not a punishment for staying out so late. In fact, it has little to do with it. It is a gift that has been in the works for a few days; she is a very useful girl, she can help you with all sorts of things, with getting ready and such --”

“I am a woman of twenty! I can  _ get dressed by myself! _ ”

“Please, Princess, you needn’t worry -- your Father told me that the girl is one of his most trusted, that they’ve been in a part of the Schnee family line for many years --”

I have heard everything there is to hear. I put my hand up to stop her from saying any more unnecessary words. “ _ Is there anything else. _ ”

This is humiliating. I’m a grown woman, getting married in but a few months, and yet being treated like a child!

“Sh-She’ll be there at your room shortly. That’s all.”

I’m done here. I turn on my heel and walk, briskly, out of the parlour. How dare he. This is his way of threatening me. This is his way of punishing me for what I haven’t even done -- for what Winter’s done and for what he’s feared would happen to me ever since.

Winter had always been his favorite. As children, she was the one he would devote all his time and attention to. He didn’t try to hide it, and why should he have? She was the most talented, the most obedient. I don’t remember much about then; I was, after all, very young. 

But something changed when Winter turned sixteen. Suddenly, she wanted more. It wasn’t that she was greedy -- or maybe she was -- but instead that she knew the reality of her situation. Of the situation I’m in now. She didn’t want to get married to the men Father offered to her. She was rude, cynical, and completely improper -- she became quite the rebel. Out of all things, she developed an interest in weaponry and military strategy. She stole books from Father’s library, with Klein’s help, and developed a strategic mind. 

Father was livid, and I think at a time he was going to disown her. Eventually, she married some horrible, uncouth Vale military commander. It wasn’t at Father’s insistence this time, though; she married for love, or so I’ve heard. Father, at the end of his wits, agreed to let her marry simply to keep her from being a stain on the family’s reputation.

We don’t talk about her much, but she does come for dinner sometimes.

Father has learned since then, though. He keeps me under strict control, makes sure that I’m always where I’m supposed to be, and apparently thinks I need to be watched.

But he doesn’t have to worry. I don’t think my frigid heart is even capable of love.

I open my door.  _ She’ll be in your room shortly _ , the servant said _.  _ She’s not here yet. The vast room is empty. I have everything I want, and yet few possessions I actually care for. 

I sit on the edge of my bed, smoothing the fabric of my skirt.

Tomorrow, the Arcs will be here. I will have to put on a charming smile, make small talk, and pretend that I am truly in love with Jaune Arc while in reality what I feel is quite the opposite.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a clumsy thud.

“Weiss!” At the sound of her voice, my head turns sharply.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice trembling. She’s not supposed to be here; I’m waiting for my servant. If she finds Ruby here, I don’t know what will happen. The dolt has such a big mouth. She has a good heart, I must admit, but I don’t particularly trust her.

“The king asked me to watch over you,” she says with a smile that, considering the gravity of the situation, perplexes me. “I’m really sorry I’m late. This place is so confusing, and I still haven’t gotten used to it -- I got directions from a nice butler man but apparently I made a left where I should’ve made a right and, well, --”

“ _ You’re _ my new handmaiden?” I am in a state of disbelief. “ _ You’re _ the one my father thought was best qualified to watch over me?”

“Yep!”

I stare at her and she does the same, only with far kinder eyes.

For the first time in three weeks, I laugh.

 

* * *

 

I loathe to admit it, but Ruby Rose provides good company.

That night, we sit on the edge of my bed, close, so close if I turned my head slightly to the left I would brush up against her shoulder (of which I am painfully aware), and we talk and talk and talk. Or rather, I listen to her while she tells stories of her childhood. She has a sister, named Yang. She’s my age. She says I’d like her. From the description -- a wild, rambunctious young woman who lacks any basic sense of decency -- I don’t think I would. (Okay, that’s not what Ruby really said, but it’s what I’ve gathered from the rather… intriguing stories she’s told me.)

Her father, too, is a kind man who tries his hardest to support his family. “Ever since Mom died, he’s been  _ both  _ of our parents,” she explains with a sad smile. 

Her family is messy, and they own little property. They’re crude, impolite, ill-mannered. Father would  _ despise  _ them.

And yet, Ruby Rose’s cozy little family is everything I’ve ever waned but never been able to have.

Sometime during the night, I tell Ruby that I am to be married. It’s an absent-minded reference on my part, something about the Arc family and ours joining and  _ I can’t imagine that going smoothly _ . I thought she had already known; after all, it has been the talk of the palace for the past day. I was mistaken. Her smile is still there, but it looks strained.

“Do you…  _ want  _ to?” she asks.

I think it’s a stupid question, and I inform her about my opinion.

She sits up straight, her posture -- previously poor -- improving greatly. Her eyes widen just slightly. “But… is it you making the decision, or your father?”

I grimace. “Father, of course. Who else?”

“You don’t have to marry him,” she says, taking my hands into her own and staring into my eyes inquisitively. “It’s your decision --”

I jerk back my hands -- my soft, smooth hands from her calloused ones -- and fire back, “It’s never been my choice. You don’t understand.”

“Sorry,” she says, pulling back her hands further and placing them on her lap. She wears a frown. She looks down. “Sorry, Weiss.”

Nobody speaks for a minute. I stare at her; she stares down. 

“I just -- I wish we had a say in this, you know? Any of us. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to marry him if you don’t want to.”

She sounds so sad. I don’t understand why.

“It’s fine,” I say, in an effort to cheer her up. It comes out sounding flat and disinterested; I wish it didn’t.Ruby doesn’t notice. At the words, shaky and hesitant coming out of my mouth, she perks up. Just slightly. Her sunken shoulders raised slightly; her eyes tilted upwards in a sad smile. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “It’s fine,” I repeat. “I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s late,” she says.

“Astute observation.”

“Maybe I should leave? I think I’m supposed to sleep at the maid’s quarters. I don’t really want to go, though. I like talking to you.”

Out of all the things Ruby Rose has said to me thus far -- out of all the outlandish, outrageous things she’s told me -- this is what surprises me the most.

Why doesn’t she hate me? Why does she sound so completely, and truly sincere, saying these words that cannot possibly be true? 

“I -- thank you,” I say, voice breaking. 

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?

“Me too,” I say, but the last word comes out high-pitched, as if I am asking it as a question. Even though it’s not. “You dolt.”

Ruby’s smile. Ruby’s brilliant smile. “It’s late,” she says. Indeed, the night is “Good night, Weiss!”

It’s only later, as I am on the cusp of sleep, that I realized that  _ Ruby called me by my first name  _ and  _ I hate being called by my first name _ . 

It’s a curious thing that I don’t even mind. What’s wrong with me?

 

* * *

 

The next day is a blur. The words “dinner” and “Jaune Arc” and “handsome” and “marriage” are repeated more times than I can count, but never by Ruby, who is by my side for all of it. She looks uncomfortable throughout all of it.

Having her around is surprisingly nice. She is not, of course, my friend. That would be highly improper. However… she does provide good company, even if I want her to shut up half the time. More than half the time. (That girl does not have a verbal filter, and one day it’s going to get her in trouble.)

In the morning, I wake up at the sensation of something warm poking my face. Ruby is there, hovering above me, murky red hair strewn every which way in a manner my father would not approve of. 

My first instinct involves shrieking and, before I can even think of what I am doing, pushing her away from me, flipping our position such that I am on top of her, and then promptly pinning her down such that, if I were equipped with Myrtenaster, it would be at her throat.

“Uh, WEISS--?”

Then the drowsiness of sleep fades and I realize what I’ve done. Ruby looks absolutely terrified under me. I let go of her collar and jerk my hand away.

“Don’t wake me up like that!” I say, heat rushing up to my cheeks.

“How would I have known you’d try to  _ kill me _ ?” she says, equally as flustered.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you!” I say, then backtrack once I realize that I had actually been about to strangle her: “Well,  _ maybe  _ a little bit -- just never do that ever again, okay? Wake me up like a normal person!”

“Why is that your first reflex, anyway?” she grumbles, rubbing her neck. I notice this and hope I didn’t hurt her.

Then I realize that I’m still on top of her and, although I cannot see it, I am certain that the blush on my otherwise pale skin must be  _ very  _ noticeable. I quickly get off her and stand up. “I -- I’m going to get dressed now,” I say.

“I’ll be outside,” she says awkwardly, already walking briskly towards the door. “Take your time! Have fun!”

Ruby really is something else.

Although, there are a few things I’ve been wondering about, and have been on the back of my mind constantly as I talk to Ruby: where did she get that scythe from? Where does she hide it? Why was she training? What for? How did she even sneak it into the castle in the first place?

I would have asked her last night, but the conversation had shifted to…  _ other _ things and I had forgot all about it.

Myrtenaster is one thing -- it’s a small rapier, easy to hide in any kind of medium-sized container which could be otherwise assumed to hold clothes or jewelry or some kind of luxury item. But Crescent Rose is different: it’s huge and clunky. In a way, it really fits Ruby. Who else to lug around that giant, heavy, ridiculous weapon?

I still don’t understand why I’m so drawn to Ruby. Maybe it’s because she’s the only friend I’ve ever had (and barely even a friend at that) or because she’s so oddly charming, with her smile and large, glittering silver eyes… but it is undeniable that I have taken a liking to her. 

Once I finish dressing, I open my door and Ruby is there, standing and fidgeting. She sees me and smiles. We start walking towards the dining hall.

“Ruby, I’ve been wondering something,” I say and she gives me her full attention. “What exactly are your duties as my --,” I use air quotes, “‘personal servant’?”

“Well, I was just told to watch over you and do whatever you wanted me to do,” she says.

I nod. That makes sense. After all, we have servants for nearly everything else: cooking, cleaning, organizing, gardening. Ruby doesn’t  _ really _ have a purpose in being with me. Father just wanted to make sure I wasn’t doing… whatever he thinks I’m doing. Now that I think about it, he does have a point in not trusting me. After all, I regularly sneak out and practice sword combat. Although, he has no way of knowing that, so from his point of view, he’s acting quite paranoid.

Most of the time, I’m the perfect, obedient daughter. It’s when I’m alone, or with Winter or Klein, that my attitude shifts so dramatically.

All in all, it’s ridiculous. Preposterous! Ruby is just following me around, and it’s quite a waste to hire a servant just for that purpose.

It doesn’t surprise me at all. After all, this is Father.

Breakfast is uneventful. Ruby tells me more about her uncle. There’s something familiar about her description of him that I can’t quite place. It’s probably nothing, though. There’s a lot of dark-haired, drunk men in the kingdom of Atlas.

Afterwards, she asks me what I usually do during the day.

I think about it for a second, and then reply, “I usually go out into the garden and read. I take walks sometimes.” The truth is I do whatever I can to occupy myself. The days here are long and boring.

“But it’s so cold!” she protests. 

“I don’t really mind it,” I say. “I’ve had a lifetime to grow accustomed to the Atlesian winter.”

“I guess you’re right,” she says. “It’s never this cold in Vale.”

“Vale?” I ask. “You’re from Vale?”

“Yeah!” she says. “I was born there, on Patch, but we moved here when I was very young, to escape the plague.”

“Oh.” I don’t know to respond to that. She had told me that her mother had died, but not the exact details. I’m smart enough to connect the dots.

“Yeah. I like it here, though,” she says with a smile. “Even if it’s pretty cold here and it snows a lot. Hey, does that make you the snow queen?”

“ _ No. _ ”

“Too late I’m going to call you that from now on!”

“You will  _ not _ ! First of all, I’m a princess, not a queen!”

“That’s just nitpicking! It’s a good nickname, admit it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to show me respect? I could have you executed right here and now!”

Her eyes widen and she frowns -- an expression which I believe is called ‘puppy eyes’. “Would you really?” 

I sigh. “No, but I want to.”

 

* * *

 

At the hour of 6 o’clock, after the skies have darkened and the palace has become quiet, one of Father’s servants comes and informs me that the Arcs are arriving promptly, and to get dressed in something that is  _ proper _ for the occasion. 

I don’t see what is wrong with what I am wearing right now -- it definitely looks expensive, being embedded with gemstones and made of only the highest-quality silk imported from Mistral. But I know that not questioning these things saves a lot of time and energy.

I quickly change into something that screams ‘unnecessarily rich,’ a blue floral-patterned dress with a long skirt that drags behind me and too many buttons to know what to do with. It’s much more uncomfortable than the other one, and certainly more impractical. 

Ruby sees me when I leave and says I look pretty. Under different circumstances, I would be happier; delighted, even, at the kind words. Under the current ones, I barely comprehend her words. The only thing I can think of is the dinner. Still, I thank her. 

“Bye, Weiss,” she says softly. This is a dinner between the Arcs, Father, and I; there is no room for Ruby there. She will be waiting for me when I get back. 

“Goodbye,” I say, turning on my heels sharply and walking towards the dining hall. I can hear the heels of my shoes clicking on the floor.

 

* * *

 

The Arcs have not arrived yet, but they will soon. Any minute now. Father has already decided where we will all sit; he is at the head of the table, with the Grand Duke of Vale, Jaune’s father, at the opposite side. Jaune will be at my right. Apparently, the Arc family is quite large, with  _ seven  _ other sisters in the family. However, since this is but the first dinner of many, only the eldest will be joining us today. She will sit across from Jaune and I, next to her mother.

Essentially, I’m being sandwiched between Jaune and Father. 

He asks me if I’m excited. I say yes. He doesn’t give me any more speeches about how I best not do anything to shame the family. It’s already implied that the consequences of disobeying would be… unpleasant.

Klein steps into our dining hall. He bows in respect to my father. “My King,” he says, “the Arcs have arrived and are just outside the palace gates.”

“Send them in,” my father says, lips curled into a polite smile. “Give them our warmest greetings.”

Klein leaves as fast as he arrives, shooting me one last apologetic, understanding look before he goes. He hurries off.

Father sips his tea nonchalantly. This is one of the few times I’ve seen him so self-assured, so comfortable and devoid of any anxiety. It’s scary how quickly he can change his entire demeanor in the presence of guests.

When they arrive, I stand up and Father does too. He shakes the Grand Duke’s hand; I politely nod and curtsy at the others. Much to my discomfort and displeasure, Jaune decides to kiss my hand. I act like I enjoy it and then wipe it on the back of my dress when no one is looking.

“Hello, ice princess,” he says. 

(I resist the urge to gag.)

The others are lost in their own conversation. Father is having a heated debate with the Grand Duke, something about Vacuan politics and their state. “It’s a shame,” I hear Jaune’s father say, “that their military is so weak. One of these days, another great power is going to take them over. One of these days. It has to. Great culture. Have you ever been to Vacuo?”

“How have you been since our last meeting?” He asks.

“I’ve been well,” I respond coolly. “How have you been?”

“Good! Very good.”

I stare at him. He stares back at me, nervously grinning. I am supposed to be polite, to make conversation, but I firmly believe Jaune Arc is a lost cause. There is nothing I can possibly say to him to make him more interesting.

“So, we’re getting married, I guess.”

“It appears so, yes.”

“That’s good, right?”

I nod. “Quite,” and by the pleased look on his face it is apparent that not even a fraction of the disdain that I feel for him is apparent through my tone of voice. That’s excellent. I was sure that it had been quite obvious. Then again, though, Jaune Arc is a clueless fellow.

 

* * *

 

 

Ruby is waiting for me when I get back to my room. She says something to me, but I’m not listening. Instead, I close the door, gently, so that it doesn’t make a sound. I take her hand and lead her to the balcony. I ignore her confused protests.

I extract Myrtenaster. Lately, I’ve been more sloppy with its placement, since I’ve realized that, for the most part, the maid ted to avoid my room. I have a bit of a reputation here with being… snappy at whoever tries to meddle with my things.

“Where do you keep Crescent Rose?” I ask, twirling Myrtenaster absentmindedly. 

“What?” Her face is that of disbelief. Maybe she’s right in her confusion, but at the moment I’m too annoyed to deal with it.

“We’re going to spar, Ruby. Where do you keep Crescent Rose? We need to get it.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions. Just tell me where you keep Crescent Rose!”

“I keep her inside a hollow log in the outskirts of the gardens, a little farther than where I saw you before, on the edge of the forest” she says. “But, um, why are we going to spar right now? Don’t you want to go to sleep? It’s been a long day and you’re probably really tired --”

I shake my head. I know Ruby means well, but she doesn’t quite understand how I feel right now. She can’t. Myrtenaster -- training -- is one of the things that makes my life have purpose. One of the only things I do that I truly enjoy. On days like these, it’s the only thing I can do to feel alive.

“I need to do this,” I say.

“Okay, if you really want to… Hey, how do you get down from here?”

“I climb,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “While holding that thing?” she points to Myrtenaster.

I laugh. “I  _ do  _ have a sheath and a strap so that I can attach it to my dress, but, yes, it is quite a challenge. Dangerous, too.” I smile proudly. 

“That seems like a really easy way to hurt yourself,” she says, frowning.

“I have gotten a few scars,” I say, rubbing my eye absentmindedly. In my early days of training, I had made the mistake of holding the rapier in such a way that it pointed towards me. It was an innocent mistake that wouldn’t have mattered much if I hadn’t gone and  _ fell.  _ Immediately, its blade cut into my cheek, and my eyebrow as well, somewhat. If I hadn’t had good enough reflexes to immediately push it away, I could have lost an eye.

That was a year ago. I told Father that I had cut myself on a rather sharp kitchen knife while trying to cook. It was a miracle that he bought the story, since me trying to cook while living in a palace with servants at my beck and call was, frankly, ridiculous.

He only yelled at me for a few days. Then he ordered me to stay away from the kitchen. He’s still angry that I’ve ruined my ‘beautiful, clear skin’. Says that it makes it harder to find a husband.

Apparently, not  _ too  _ hard.

“You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that,” she says again. I don’t know how to respond to that. She sounds like she actually cares about me.

“Come on,” I say, “let’s go.”

I take her hand and lead her to where I usually climb down from. It’s not an incredibly large height, and there are a great number of notches and imperfections in the stones which makes it easy to climb. It’s relatively safe, but she still looks unsure.

“Do you want me to show you first?” I say, trying to sound patient but failing miserably. I know that, logically, it  _ is  _ her first time ever doing this and she is rightfully nervous -- but right now, she’s just slowing me down.

She nods.

“Just watch me,” I say. Putting Myrtenaster into its sheath and then strapping it securely -- I have to be a good example for Ruby, so I have no room for error -- I put one foot tentatively on the stone, then a hand, then another foot, and I find my balance.

I look up to where Ruby is. She looks frightened,  impressed, and determined all at once. Seeing that I am looking at her, she nods, a silent affirmation:  _ I see you. I’m here. You don’t need to stop for me. _

I quickly climb the rest of the way down. It’s Ruby’s turn now. I’m not too worried, considering that I first learned to scale the wall after a particularly nasty fight with Winter when I was seven -- and, my own experiences aside, I know she’s capable. If she has the strength to swing around a scythe that’s larger and probably weighs more than herself, she can scale a wall.

I trust her.

It goes without incident. From there on, we walk, mostly in silence, to my spot. I know that it’s unlikely that anyone would happen to see us if we were sparring anywhere else, but… there are palace guards, and sometimes someone goes outside for some fresh air, and maybe if we truly made a mess of things someone would notice. And that’s a chance I cannot possibly take.

So it’s safer there, on the border between the forest and the gardens. (And besides, I’ve actually come to like my spot quite a lot. It’s the one place where I can truly be myself without hindrance or judgement or other eyes to watch my every move.)

“I’m still confused as to how you hide that giant thing in a  _ log,”  _ I say, as I follow her into the forest. “How could a tree that big ever exist?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “I just realized, I never showed you how Crescent Rose can fold down.”

“What do you mean fold down?” I ask.

“Well, it folds down by itself if I press down on a switch, on the handle,” she says. “It gets bigger, too.”

“That’s impossible!”

“It’s not!”

“Certainly impossible using any modern Atlesian technology. -- and we have the strongest army in all of the Remnant states!”

Ruby smirks. “I can show you how it works. It’s kind of a… passed-down-through-the-family kind of thing. It’s not magic or anything, just science!”

I’ve heard so much about Ruby’s family -- how they’re a line of weapon-wielders, how they’re an old lineage, honorable and trusted (by my own father, which is an impressive feat in itself).

“Oh, I’m so excited. Weapons are kind of my thing, you know? You probably think it’s improper or unfit for a girl like me, but… I can’t explain it, it’s just...building them, using them, learning about them, it just makes me happy.”

I shake my head. “I understand what it’s like to love something that others don’t approve of.” 

“Really?” she asks, then adds, “Oh, and it’s just a little while further -- up this way.”

I continue following her. It’s very dark -- only the light of the moon and stars guides us. “Yes, really. Do you think my father approves of my… interests?”

“You mean sparring?” she asks.

“ _ Yes,  _ I mean sparring.”

“Your father doesn’t sound like the nicest. Or the most accepting.”

“Be careful with your words,” I snap. “That’s the King you’re talking about.”

I don’t particularly like my father, but I’ll be damned if someone disrespects the Schnee name.

She looks taken aback by my words and I instantly regret it. In hindsight, I should have maybe been less harsh -- after all, we’ve been having a casual conversation and have actually becoming closer as friends and now I choose to play the princess card?

Still… I can’t understand it, or explain it. I just…

The Schnee name is all I have, and I will not let it be dragged through the mud.

But it’s Ruby. It’s just Ruby. She means well. She doesn’t want to hurt me. She wants to be my friend. I’ve told her my greatest secret already; I’m sharing this with her. 

“I’m really sorry, Weiss --,” she says, then her eyes widen and she apologizes profusely: “I’m sorry, I meant Princess --”

I’m being unreasonable. I know this.

“It’s okay, Ruby,” I say, sighing. “You don’t have to call me Princess; Weiss will do. I just -- I don’t want to talk about my family right now. Or really anything to have to do with Father.”

“Okay.”

“I’m… sorry.”

“Really?” her eyes widen. “Nononono, I’m the one that should be sorry! I was being rude to the King --”

“Don’t make me say it again,” I say. “I made the mistake of treating you not as as friend but instead an… aide. Which I suppose you technically are, but I’d like to think that--,” I realize that I’m rambling and blush scarlet. “Just accept my apology and let’s  _ please  _ talk about something else!”

“Wait, hold on a second!” she puts her hands on my shoulders. “We’re...  _ friends _ ?”

I suddenly feel very ashamed and exposed -- of course she doesn’t want to be my friend. She didn’t even come here willingly, I had to drag her out, she could be sleeping right now but I just had to drag her out here --

“This is the best day  _ ever! _ ”

“Wait, what?!”

She wraps her arms around me, a simple maneuver considering that her hands were already on my shoulders, and squeezes me tightly. So tightly that I can’t breathe.

If at all possible, I grow even redder.

“R-Ruby!”

“You’re the best friend  _ ever _ !”

“Let go of me!”

“I caan’t! We’re friends! This is the hug of friendship!”

“You’re not going to let go.”

“Nope.”

I sigh, and then mutter “Dolt” under my breath. I’m happy, though. For the first time in a while. Even though my ribs aren’t.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly letting go of her tight hold (and letting me breathe, finally), “We’re here! I didn’t see because it was so dark and because we were having, you know, a  _ moment,  _ but…”

She crouches down. It is hard to see her through the all-encapsulating darkness, but I can vaguely see her put her hand through the hole in the log, struggle for a few seconds to remove the weapon (which must be quite heavy), and finally, pull it out.

I can’t believe my eyes -- she wasn’t lying. It’s small now, compact, as if she had folded it up like an item of clothing… and in closer inspection, I can see the glint of gears in the moonlight, interlocked but stationary (for now).

“That’s amazing!” I blurt out before my verbal filter can do its thing.

Ruby grins ear to ear. “Thanks! It’s kind of my pride and joy. I turn this handle here here --.” and she does, “and it gets bigger. Just stand back, you know how big her scythe form is.”

It takes a few seconds, but I watch Crescent Rose transform right before my eyes. I watch, eyes wide, as the gears turn; I’ve never seen anything like this before.

When all is done, she asks me, “So, do you want to start?”

I nod.

 

* * *

 

We spar for hours, and by the time we are done, it is almost sunrise and we are both exhausted.

Exhausted, but happier than I’ve ever been, too. 

And I decide something that night, torn between a fear of displeasing my father and the shame of being such a coward. 

The decision is rash, irrational, dangerous, and most of all, it’s completely unlike me. I’m the perfect daughter; that’s who I am, and as Ruby would say, that’s my  _ thing.  _ I’m predictable, scheduled, and I’ve never deviated from that.

But I can’t let myself be bullied by my own father like this. I want to live my own life. I can’t continue like this, strangled by the palace walls. I’ll either live freely or die trying.

Six days later I finally gather the courage to tell my father that I don’t want to marry Jaune Arc. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yO  
> \- ok! first off i take no credit for the "torn between a fear of displeasing my father and the shame of being such a coward." is not mine. it is from Madame Bovary, one of my favorite books ever. i did not write it. i'm not a good enough writer lol
> 
> \- THIS CHAPTER IS LIKE 7500 WORDS AND I WROTE MOST OF IT IN MY COMPUTER SCIENCE CLASS
> 
> \- i know i said 3 chapters, but it's leaning more towards 4 right now. i tried to fit everything i had planned for ch2/3 into this chapter, but it ended up being...yanno 7500 words. and I didn't want to write more in a single chapter. that's just. way too much.  
> so i don't know if i can reasonably fit everything that's left into ch3/3.
> 
> \- is anyone a great comet of 1812 fan? because the title, and a few quotes throughout, reference it. if you're not, check it out. it's a really great musical.
> 
> \- OH AND ALSO i wrote jaune out to be horrible, and ngl he's Not my favorite character but he'll have a redemption...... ;-)
> 
> \- i actually proofread this and i'm happy with it lol so i hope you guys enjoy! if all goes well, next chapter shall also be posted soon.


	3. no visions of the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. This isn't the last chapter: I've decided that there's going to be a short (2k, maybe 3k words) epilogue, because I didn't really feel right ending the story, yet. I know this is somewhat late, but I had a lot of AP tests and other stressful things, and haven't had much time to write. I really did work hard on this. I hope this is good!
> 
> Oh, and possible tw for blood (VERY VERY VERY minor, it's like three lines, not in depth at all, but I mean, just putting this out here anyway in case any of you are really sensitive towards that stuff).
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Title is from, once again, the musical "Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812" (which I love so much and 100% recommend)

Instead of planning things through, I had decided that, instead, it would be a good idea to tell Father at dinnertime -- and so, it was less of a sitting-down-and-talking-to Father and more of a blurting it out in between pretending like I had an appetite and listening to useless small talk.

His expression contorted from confusion, disbelief, shock, and fury all within the range of a few seconds.

Then he got up, slammed his fist upon the table angrily, face and neck entirely red, and left for his study.

That was the end of it for then. He was gone; there was nothing more to talk about. I certainly had no appetite to eat; I hadn’t one in the first place, and, well, now… 

I came back to my room, Ruby waiting for me. I hadn’t told her anything, of course. If I did, things would get complicated. She’d know, she’d talk to me, she’d talk me out of doing something rash. I couldn’t have that.

I don’t know if Ruby could ever understand, but this was something I needed to do for myself. By myself.

“Weiss? What’s wrong?”

Her voice is so afraid. I realize that I am shaking.

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“Clearly you’re not -- Weiss, please tell me, I’m so worried about you --”

I cut her off. “Ruby, leave me alone.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.”

“I wish to be left alone, and you’re still in here bothering me!”

“I --,” she opens her mouth to speak but can’t find the words. Finally she nods once and walks out, not even facing me.

As soon as she is gone, I start sobbing.

 

* * *

 

The next day, after I’ve cried all of my tears and after my voice has become so sore I can no longer scream into my pillow, there’s a new girl.

I realize there’s something wrong as soon as I am able to realize my surroundings -- no, before that. Ruby is not just physically absent; all traces of her, of her ever being here, are gone. Gone with her is the feeling of contentment and warmth and safety I used to feel waking up with her around.

It’s cold here now. 

I don’t ask Father where she went. We don’t talk, don’t have family dinners anymore, and under no circumstances do we mention the marriage unless necessary.

We are, of course, still engaged to be married.

I regret that day with all of my heart. It took away the one thing that mattered to me -- Ruby.

Most of the time, I stay in my room, the doors -- even to the balcony -- locked. There are no servants anymore. Maybe Father thinks that I’d jump otherwise. Maybe he has a point. (Maybe I should.)

My only friend, gone. How about that.

 

At first, I wallow about it. I lie on my bed, staring out into the distance, wondering why this would happen to me -- of all people, me! I curse fate, proclaim that she is cruel, say that I will never love a person ever again.

Needless to say, I’m… lonely. I was always lonely before, but now it’s different that I know what I’m missing.

After the wallowing phase comes the blaming.

It’s all her fault, I tell the dress in my closet and the book on my shelf. She tricked me! She introduced hope into my life, made me think for the first time that there was some way to escape this horrible life.

I hate her, I say. But I fool no one. Not even myself.

 

I imagine what it would be like to see her again. Not that, of course, it would ever happen -- it’s just that pretending makes life a little less boring, sometimes.

What would I do? What would I tell her?

The highlight of my week is an activity that I loathed before: dinners with Jaune Arc.

The wedding is only in a couple of months now, and it approaches fast, which means preparations in order. This will, of course, be a wedding of remarkable attendance, despite my personal objection. After all, this marriage is the physical proof of a military alliance between Vale and Atlas. I’m the Princess Schnee, heiress to the throne, after all.

Everything needs to be perfect. Anything less would be weakness.

The reason why I enjoy dinners so is not due to my personal delight at seeing Jaune Arc. Quite the opposite; I can’t stand him. Despite what he may think, he is not charming, and having to pretend otherwise is almost physically painful.

But dinners with Jaune Arc are the only day of the week where I am allowed to leave my room, feel the sunlight on my cheeks, so for that I must thank him.

(I still despise him, though. This is something I cannot foresee changing.)

It is on this Sunday night where he strikes up a conversation with me at the dinner table, as he does every week. If nothing else, he’s punctual.

But it’s different this time. He gives me the usual introduction, to which I have grown so accustomed: “Hello there, Ice Princess.” Replacing his usual smug grin, though, is a look of pure, and deep, distress.

“Hello,” I say. I think, for a few moments, of how to ask him, politely, why his face looks… like that. Eventually, I settle on, “Are you well?”

“Yes -- well, no, not really,” he says, face contorting into a grimace. “I need to tell you something, Weiss.”

He used my real name. This must be serious.

“What is it?” I say, tapping my fingers against the table absentmindedly, of a tune that has been stuck in my head for a few days. I wish I had a fortepiano in my room; it would make writing music far easier.

“I don’t --,” he looks around for a few seconds, turning his head right and left, and, upon realizing that we are totally alone in here, whispers (quite loudly), “I don’t want to...”

I raise an eyebrow.

He stutters for a few seconds. “I’m really sorry, Weiss, but I don’t know if I can marry you.”

I stare at him.

He stares back at me.

All I can do is laugh.

“Why -- what -- Weiss, are you okay?”

I continue laughing, so hard that tears form in my eyes. This is all quite improper. Father would be livid.

“Weiss…?”

I stop, the mirthful smile on my face never fades. “Clearly we are more alike than our fathers realized.” 

His eyebrows furrow, but the look of stress is for the most part gone. That’s good -- Jaune is especially annoying when nervous.

I continue. “I’m curious -- what changed?”

He looks sheepish now. “I sort of… met a girl. Her name is Pyrrha. She’s from really far away -- Mistral, actually, so I don’t know if it would work out, but she made me realize that I would never be able to go through with --,” he waves his arms around, ”--this.”

So deep down, Jaune feels the same as I do. I never expected this, but now that the opportunity has arisen, I can’t ignore it.

This is my chance. My one chance to leave this place.

“Well, then, Jaune,” I say, and the gears of my mind are turning, “What if we could both get what we wanted? You could marry Pyrrha, and I could escape this marriage.”

He leans forward. “I’m listening.”

 

* * *

 

The plan is two-fold, and it is this.

There are two more days before the wedding at which Jaune and I will see each other: next Saturday, during our weekly dinner, and at the night before our wedding, during which Jaune’s family will stay over at the palace.

The first phase is that of preparation. During the next week, I will arrange a bag -- large enough to hold the things I need for my journey, but small enough to be inconspicuous. Inside the bag, some of my old dresses, as well as socks, shoes, and underwear, will be craftily hidden. As I currently do not have access to the kitchen, Jaune will bring another bag full of food for me: apples, bread, cheese. 

This will last maybe a week. After that, I am on my own. I will either find a way to survive, or die.

We will combine our supplies, and hide them, next week. Under the guise of an innocent walk through the gardens, (an activity that will surely gain Father’s approval -- after all, it means that I wish to be with my betrothed), we will head out to the place at which Myrtenaster is stored and hide the bags in Ruby’s hollow log.

On the night before our wedding, we will do the same, with a few key differences: I will never return.

Jaune will come back to the castle, red and distraught and disheveled, and tell them that I attacked him with a rapier and ran away, screaming that I would not marry him. At first, they will not believe him, but Winter will verify the story by telling Father of her giving me Myrtenaster. I hope she will not feel too guilty, but I plan to contact her at some point.

That is, if I make it that far.

Death doesn’t scare me; it never has. After all, for my entire life I’ve been trained to be obedient, fulfill my purpose as a wife and mother and princess, and then die. 

It’s not like I have anything to live for, anyway. Not anymore.

To be quite truthful, I never expected Jaune to be like this. I had always thought that he was vapid. But it seems that I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.

Day after day, to me, has become habit. The days were never particularly interesting, but now that I’ve been confined to my room -- not even allowed the occasional walk in the garden or trip to the ballroom -- it is hard to tell how long I have been here. My sense of time has distorted such that the only true marking of it is the Sunday dinners I have with Jaune and his family.

Taking all of this into consideration, whenever there is an anomaly -- a blip in the pattern -- it is the center, the highlight of my week.

When the piece of paper, at one point white but now yellow and stained -- surely a result of extensive use -- is slipped under the door, I am excited, naturally. Not good excited, nor bad excited, but simply excited, as any small change is a notable event.

Perhaps it is a letter from Father. Perhaps it is from one of my servants. Is there a ball to be held soon, or an event which I am expected to attend? 

I snatch it up and unfold it. 

Small footsteps sound throughout the hall.

_ Dear Weiss, _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t been able to contact you sooner, but the King isn’t letting me anywhere near you. He doesn’t even let anyone come near this side of the palace except a few of his personal servants -- but especially not me. Something happened, Weiss, and I’m not sure how much you know, or if your Father told you, but I’m certain that it has to do with me. I’m so sorry. I never meant this to happen. You have to believe me. I miss you so much, Weiss.  _

_ I don’t really know what else to say, but every day you’re not with me hurts. I wish things were like before. I wish I could spar with you again and eat breakfast with you and walk in the garden. I know I’m just a servant girl, but, if I can say this, I miss your friendship. Putting it into words is hard, but I know this: I miss everything about you. I’m so sorry -- if you can find it within you, please, please forgive me for what I did. I never thought the consequences would be... this. _

 

_ Love, _

_ Ruby Rose _

 

_ P.S. If, by any chance, you wish to contact me again, I’ll be here again at exactly midnight tomorrow. If you have a response, you can slip it under the door. If you never want to see me ever again, I understand. Really. I do. And I swear I’ll never write to you ever again, if that’s what you want. But you need to know that I’m sorry. _

 

I don’t understand.

What does Ruby mean that -- it’s her fault? No, it’s me! It was what I did. It was my foolishness that got her taken away from me. I want to scream at the letter, tell it -- tell the last remaining thing I have of Ruby -- that it’s not her fault, it’s mine.

She’s blaming herself for something I did.

Of course Father didn’t tell the servants -- or anyone, really -- what happened with me. Why would he? He can’t let that out -- if he does, it’ll be the talk of the entire country within a few days. He’d look like a fool, bossed around by his own daughter. No. He would never tell anyone that.

But I have to put all of my feelings down on the paper. I have to. I have to let Ruby know it’s not her fault.

I have to tell her about the plan.

I pick up a pen, and a paper, and shakily, I start writing. It doesn’t make sense at first. It’s not proper penmanship, proper manners, at all. This, my father would have said, is not the way you converse with another person. This is not the way. Do you want to humiliate me? Humiliate our family? Ruin everything?

Tears fall onto the paper. I wipe them off, but the ink smudges. The words are distorted, almost unreadable, but I cannot start over. This is all of Weiss Schnee, in a single page.

All I am, all I have ever been.

 

* * *

 

 A skitter of footsteps and two knocks on the door.

_ Dear Ruby,  _ it starts.  _ What you wrote to me in your last letter is wrong. Everything is wrong. The blame isn’t yours, it’s mine. You’ve got it wrong; you have everything mixed up. It’s not your fault. _

I make my way to the door, slowly but surely, and whisper, “Ruby?”

_ I don’t know if this makes sense to you; probably not. Nothing makes sense anymore, to me, and I’m tired -- I’m so exhausted -- and hungry and not cohesive at all. I need to tell you the real story. What really happened. _

The night is dead silent, and although the door separates us, it isn’t enough to stop me from hearing not just everything she says but all of the sounds she makes, her breaths and nervous tapping.

_ Let me start from the beginning. _

“It’s me,” she says softly, carefully. This wing of the castle is deserted, for the most part, but there  _ are _ palace guards, and if any of them were to hear… 

_ I had an epiphany when we were together. It was that I didn’t want to marry Jaune Arc. It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? I don’t love him. I agreed to it because -- well, what else? This is my destiny. This is what I am to do. I am to live a life of obedience and servitude -- not to a master, but to a father and husband (although they might as well be the same thing). _

I slip the letter under the door. She takes it, opens it, and I hear her slump on the door, sitting down to read the thing.

_ I’ve been kept locked in here for a few weeks now because I told my father the truth. He doesn’t let me leave except for our Sunday dinners, and, of course, the wedding, and the night before. It’s in two weeks, as I’m sure you know. It’s been the talk of the palace. _

_ I have so much to tell you, Ruby. But I will make things short, and get to the point.  _

_ Please, Ruby, escape with me. We can leave and never return. I haven’t planned out very much, but I know one thing, and it is that I cannot bear living in this place for any longer.  _

_ Please give me your prompt reply. If you do choose to leave, bring the necessities with you -- food, water, and any clothes you may need. You’ll need to know that this is very dangerous, as well. We’re two young, unmarried women; what opportunity do we have out of these walls? _

_ But if you do choose to come with me… meet me at the hollow log. _

_ Love, _

_ Weiss. _

 

I wait for her reply.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll come with you. But where will we go?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I say. “Somewhere they won’t recognize me. Vale, perhaps.”

A moment passes. 

“What kind of a reply is ‘Okay,’ anyway? This is the most important decision you will ever make in your life, and your response is ‘Okay’?”

She giggles. “Yep.”

I guess, despite it all, Ruby is her same self.

...Am I?

Myself, I mean. After all of it -- the passionate declarations of love and hatred and everything in between, and a newfound defiant streak -- am I still the Weiss Schnee of before Ruby, all those months ago?

“Weiss?” her voice is rather panicked.

“Yes?”

“I hear footsteps.”

“You need to leave now,” I assert, “now as in right now. If you get caught, my Father will not hesitate to execute you.”

“Okay,” she whispers back. “I’ll leave now. But I’ll find you, Weiss. We can be together again.”

So she goes.

Lately, I’ve been realizing a lot of things about myself. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I do not love Jaune Arc, and taken responsibility for that. I’ve realized that I want my own path in life.

I’ve realized that not my father nor society has a place in my life. Damn them to Hell!

And I know that, if my past self were to hear what I am now saying, I would have been appalled. I’ve never been the defiant one. I’ve always been polite, complacent, the perfect daughter and princess and future wife. 

...And I also know that, if I were ever to act on my feelings, and if anyone ever found out, I’d be burnt at the stake like the others. I know that it’s wrong. Impossible. Absurd.

...But I think that I love Ruby Rose.

 

* * *

 

There. I said it.

I don’t know why it took so long; the feelings have always been inside of me.

What has happened to me? When have I transformed into a person so rash, so confident, so bold? 

I don’t understand anything these days, least of all myself.

I fall asleep weeping. I cannot pinpoint whether they are from sadness, happiness, or frustration, but I know it is some combination of all three.

 

* * *

 

 Last week’s dinner came and went without incident, and when time has passed and is the day before the wedding, I shake from excitement.

Everything is ready. I’ve rehearsed this so many times in my mind -- after all, I’ve had little else to do. I’ve perfected my plan, accounted for every little thing that could possibly go wrong, every outside factor, every change or obstruction. I know what I’m going to say. How I’ll act. I’ve rehearsed it in front of my mirror countless times.

I’m ready.

I wonder how Ruby is doing. Has she prepared adequately? What is she bringing? Does she feel as nervous as I do? Does she feel the fluttering in her stomach, too?

Twirling in the mirror now, I see that I am pretty. The wedding dress, which I had previously been fitted for but hadn’t really had a chance to see in action, is light blue with white, frilly sleeves. Schnee-blue ribbons are tied around my wrists and shoulders, and in my hair, which has been done into a very large updo. 

There is no need for any kind of powdered wig or makeup to make me look pale -- I am already the vision of a stylish princess, with my naturally pale skin and white hair. To make me look younger or innocent or something along those lines, my cheeks have been bombarded with blush.

All of the maids are chattering about how beautiful I look, how happy I must be, how Jaune will be absolutely  _ delighted _ to see me. I smile and nod.

Then the door opens.

I don’t turn my head or pay it any attention, assuming it is a maid.

“Weiss.”

_ That _ gets my attention.

“Yes, Father?” I answer, recognizing the stern voice immediately. The effect is unconscious and subtle, but immediate: I straighten my back, cross my legs politely, and fold my hands onto my lap.

“I trust that you won’t cause any trouble today. After all,” he says, smiling so cruelly, “this is a time of celebration, and one of dire importance towards both of our families. Who knows what kind of effect a disgrace on our family would have towards the future of our kingdoms?”

“Of course not, Father. I’m as excited for this wedding as you are.”

“Lovely. The ceremony will begin in thirty minutes. You will be ready by then?” It is a question more directed towards the servant than I.

The woman in charge of my hair and makeup curtesies respectfully before saying, “My King, I will make sure that she will be ready by then.”

“Then, Weiss, I will see you there.”

And then he leaves.

(It’s actually quite amusing how the atmosphere in the room immediately lightens by several degrees -- some let out a sigh of relief. It’s quite disrespectful, actually. If I was not myself but someone with crueller tendencies, I might have them executed. Luckily for them, I’m the last person they should be worrying about.)

The ceremony passes by without incident. I think I even see Father smiling -- a real, genuine smile, not his usual ‘I’m smiling, but in such a way that you and I both know that this is only for show’ smile.

And then it’s time. 

It’s still light outside -- a perk of the days becoming longer. Jaune Arc’s family and mine are having dinner inside in the dining hall. Jaune takes my hand in his. (The action is, to me, disgusting, but I know that it is for a good reason. Even Jaune looks slightly uncomfortable.)

We approach the dining hall. By this time, I have always changed into a more casual dress (the servants rushed me out of the wedding dress as soon as possible, because God forbid it be soiled) and a winter coat, complete with gloves. 

Jaune asks if we can take a walk outside. Father hesitates at first, but then realizes that, firstly, we’re to be married tomorrow, and, secondly, Jaune’s father has already given his hearty approval (and a slap on the shoulder to boot), so it would be  _ so improper  _ to decline.

As we leave the palace, I whisper, “So we’re actually doing this.”

“Yep.”

“For the record, Jaune,” I say, and jerk my hand out from his now that there is nobody to see, “you’re not… as horrible a person as I thought you were.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment,” I say.

“Was it?”

“Of course!” I say, and a hand flies to my chest. “The  _ highest _ a Schnee can give.”

“That explains a lot of things.”

There’s a comfortable pause.

I ask something that’s been on my mind for a few days now. “Jaune, if you don’t mind me asking, how is your family like?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know how my family is like, from what I’ve told you,” I say. “Although family is a loose term I use that mostly means Father. Our relationship is… not very good. Mostly, Father tells me what to do and I follow his orders, and we don’t talk very much. Certainly, we’re not close -- not in the traditional sense, of a deep love between father and daughter. How do you and your family get along? Don’t you have seven sisters?”

Suddenly his face lights up like I’ve never seen before. “I do! They’re all younger than me -- the oldest one is my twin, actually. We get along great.”

He told me everything -- how his sisters always tried to braid his hair and play games with him and act out the stories they read. It all sounds so...warm and cozy. Like the childhood I always pretended I had in my head, in some other world with another Weiss and another Winter who loved each other.

Don’t get me wrong -- Winter and I don’t hate each other by any means. But we don’t exactly have the closest relationship. When Winter comes over, I tell her about how my studies are going and how hard I’ve been training with Myrtenaster. But I don’t talk about what’s  _ really  _ happening in my life. I don’t tell her how I feel or the things I like. That’s simply how it is.

Where the Schnees are the cold, harsh winter snow, the Arcs are the beaming, bright, amicable summer sunlight. 

I don’t have any doubt in my mind that this is what I want to do with my life. Any dissent within me has been subdued; gone are the panicked thoughts of what could happen or what might be.

Although I had already made up my mind, now I know that there’s nothing else I could possibly even do.

 

* * *

 

The moon is full in the sky, and I wrap the tattered wool cloak around me. It would be too obvious to just go out in my royal clothes, so I change out of them, too, even though the cloak covers them.

The silver hair is already a risk; it’s a classic Schnee trait. And the scar, too. I fear that I am too noticeable. But with the cloak covering my eyes, I’ll be safe. For now, at least. I know that Father will be furious when he realizes I am gone and send out search parties. Everyone in the kingdom will be looking for me. But I will be faster than the search parties, more clever than the townspeople seeking to turn me in for the money that will be offered, out of necessity.

Quite frankly, I’d rather die than go back to that place.

Ruby is already waiting for me at the log. I nod once to Jaune, and he holds out his arm. I’d rather not do this, but for the sake of convincing them, it must be.

I slash him once with Myrtenaster -- not too deep, not in a way that would endanger him. But he’ll have a nasty scar. The blood stains his sleeve red, and he grits his teeth.

“Thank you for everything, Jaune,” I say, and I really do mean it. “I wish you luck with Pyrrha. She’d be lucky to marry a man like you.”

“This really hurts,” he says, and his face twists awkwardly into one of pain. “But no problem. Good luck. Don’t die? That would be, um, pretty bad.”

Ruby starts laughing hysterically and I smack her shoulder.

“We really do have to get going now,” I say, “if we want to make good progress before they start looking for us.”

“I’m sorry for laughing,” Ruby says genuinely. “Good luck, Jaune!

“I’ll write you a letter if I can,” I say.

Jaune nods at us, and we walk our separate ways.

 

* * *

 

 That night was a blur. We walked for hours through the forest, not stopping even though we were so tired. We slept in shifts, and only for a few hours. We walked for all of the next day, too. Armed with just a map and a compass, I saw that we had still about a hundred miles left until the next town.

So we walked and walked until our limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

But I barely even registered the pain. All I could think about was my newfound freedom.

At one point, while Ruby and I are sitting next to each other in front of a fire we had set up, I just tell her. There isn’t any kind of big buildup or anything, no doubt or hesitation. It just slips out, really.

“Ruby, you know I love you?”

She starts giggling.

“What’s so funny?” I ask. Not angrily -- rather, playfully. I think at some point in my life I would’ve been deeply offended if someone just started laughing at me like that. But Ruby… changed things for me.

“Because I love you too, Weiss.”

“Well then, I guess that’s that,” I say jokingly.

She grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me in for a kiss.

It’s quick and chaste, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier in my life.

I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I know that a future with Ruby is the only future for me. Even though I know we won’t be accepted, even though I know that there’s so much danger up ahead for us -- even though if anyone found out they’d literally  _ kill _ us -- I wouldn’t live any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's almost the end! I hope you guys enjoyed. I worked so hard on this, and I hope it feels conclusive-ish. There is going to be an epilogue (feat. some characters that I was planning to include earlier but didn't), but I wanted this to stand alone as an ending as well, if that makes sense.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and gave kudos, you really inspire me to keep writing!
> 
> ALSO, my RWBY tumblr is @weisslove! If you like tumblr, and rwby, feel free to follow me, or not :-)


	4. home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so uhhhhhhhhhhhh this is INCREDIBLY late. and not nearly as long as my other chapters. and i am sorry. but this was just so hard to write, and i've had so much going on in my life, and i think this is... a fitting ending for them. 
> 
> ((also it says it in like the second line but this chapter is from ruby's point of view!))

Isn’t it crazy how so much can change in such a short amount of time?

If you asked my five years ago what I thought my future would be like, I would have laughed — not because I didn’t know or didn’t care, but really just ‘cause… did it really matter? I’d still be Ruby, and I’d still have my Crescent Rose, and that’s the only thing that mattered. Sure, there would be a few different details, right? I’d get married. Probably. That’s what people do, right? Or I’d be a servant for the rest of my life.

The point is, even though I could imagine myself with a secure, happy future, I never could’ve imagined that anything like this could happen to me — ever.

I never could’ve imagined waking up curled next to the woman I loved. Or that she would love me back.

Or that she would be Weiss Schnee, former-princess and heiress to the throne of Atlas — my wife.

When we escaped the palace, we didn’t know what we’d be doing. We had each other, but little else. We had to make do with barely anything for a while. It was hard, and awful. But we made it. Together.

And now we’re here — in a cozy cottage in the outskirts of Vale. Hidden in the forest. It’s not anything like the life she used to have. It’s quiet, but never lonely. Small, but not oppressive. Not a palace, but a home.

Weiss isn’t the best at… talking to me. Or others. She’s the kind of person who speaks with actions rather than words. I understand why. After a lifetime of bottling things up, it’s hard to let out your feelings. But she’s happy here, with me. I know that much. I know from the soft smiles we share in the morning and the gentle kisses she gives me for no reason whatsoever except to tell me she loves me.

I like it here too, more than I could express using words. I like tending to the plants and the animals that we have (sheep and goats and chickens). I like the fresh forest air and the wide, open space to practice with Crescent Rose. I like being free to do whatever I want, without a superior or a boss or a commander or a king to scold me. I love having a purpose — I never had one before. Here, I know my place. It’s right here. Next to Weiss.

I can’t imagine ever being happier.

It’s dawn. I’m awake — have been for a while now — but I don’t have the heart to leave bed. Weiss’s limbs are tangled with mine, head nestled in the crook of my neck, pale arms wrapped around my torso tightly. Her white hair — no longer as long as it was, for practical reasons, but still reaching nearly up to her belly — is splayed out everywhere.

But it’s dawn now, and we have to tend to the animals. As much as I hate disturbing the peace, it’s a necessary evil. I place one of my hands on Weiss’s shoulder and shake gently. It’s enough to wake her up — she’s an incredibly light sleeper.

Her eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” I say, leaning over her. I smile. “Time to wake up.”

It’s been five years, and I can’t get over how beautiful she is, with her pale blue eyes and her long white eyelashes.

“Alright,” she mumbles, sounding more like ‘Ah raih’ in her current sleepy state.

Unlike me, she’s not the type to grovel and grumble for five extra minutes of sleep. When Weiss does something, she doesn’t do it halfway. I learned this when I first met her, and I know now that this is true in every part of her life. It’s just one of the reasons why I love her.

She gets dressed quickly — nothing like the silk and pearls she had to wear when she was still ‘Weiss Schnee, Atlesian Princess’, but it’s practical and flattering and most importantly, it’s hers.

And even though she’s not wearing the silk and pearls, I think she looks just as beautiful. She blushes when I tell her that — we’ve been together for what seems like forever, but Weiss still blushes when I compliment her. And not a slight blush either — she blushes with her whole body. The tips of her ears turn pink. It’s adorable.

I interlace her hands with mine as we walk outside into the garden. The air is cool around us. It’s almost winter, but Vale isn’t nearly as cold as Atlas, and it’s actually rather pleasant, especially when we’re holding hands. You wouldn’t think it, but Weiss is actually super warm all the time — maybe because she’s so used to freezing Atlas weather all year round. Anyway, it’s really nice.

 

* * *

 

“Ruby?” Weiss calls from outside as I’m preparing lunch. It’s nothing special — a mixture of herbs and vegetables from our garden with a side of bread. But it makes me happy, a little, that we’re so self-sufficient.

This little cottage really does feel like our own home.

“What is it?” I call back. Weiss had simply been getting water from the well. I hope it’s nothing bad, but she doesn’t seem worried. Rather, confused.

“We’ve got a letter,” she says, entering the house. I hear the door close behind her.

My eyebrows scrunch up as I hear the words. A… letter? Who could it possibly be from? There are only a few people who even know we live here, and they all live in our nearest town. We don’t just stay here, even though this place is lovely. We go to town often — at least once a week — to sell the products of our little farm and buy what we can’t make ourselves. It’s not bad there. Actually, it’s pretty nice. All of the townspeople know us, and most of them are kind people.

But none of that explains who would bother writing us a letter.

Weiss holds the offending parcel in her hands and tears the thing. Immediately, her eyes widen.

My mind jumps to the worst possible conclusions. What if Weiss’s dad found out we’re here and he’s going to steal Weiss back? What if one of the townspeople was a little too nosy and found out our secret?

“Ruby, it’s from… your sister. It’s from Yang.”

Acting almost on instinct, I grab the letter from Weiss and start reading out loud shakily.

“Ruby,

Alright, so you’re probably wondering how I found out where you lived. Of course, Dad got all of your other letters, but there was no return address or anything, and you were super vague about where you lived. I get it, I get it: it’s for your safety. I know that Weiss and you would be in MAJOR trouble if anyone found out her real identity. Or that you guys are married. I understand, and I’m not angry at all. Okay, I’m a little angry — Ruby, it’s been five years! But… I understand.

..But you’re my baby sister, Roobs. How could I not be super worried about you? So… I cashed in a few favors. You’d be surprised how many people will tell you their secrets after being threatened by a woman with gauntlets. Or maybe not. I’m pretty scary, I think.”

“From what I’ve heard of your sister, she does seem frightening,” Weiss muses. I keep reading, tears forming in my eyes as I go along.

“Anyway, I’m not just going to leave this as a letter. How could I after not being able to see you for so long? I’m going to visit soon. Probably around the first or second week of winter; your little southern Vale cottage is actually pretty far away from Patch. And besides, I have a guest with me.

Her name’s Blake Belladonna. She’s from a Faunus clan — the daughter of a Menagerian chief. She came to Patch in the hopes of starting a new life and getting away from the White Fang, an enemy clan that broke off from the Faunus but terrorizes Mistral now. It’s not pretty. But the point is, after three years, we’re deciding to get married. I love her, and she loves me.

Dad’s really supportive, actually. I know he can be a little pushy at times, and I know that’s why you left in the first place. But he really just wants what’s best for us. He started sobbing like a baby when I told him that I was engaged to be married. He gave me a hug and told me that he loved me, no matter what, and that if Blake was what made me happy, that he’d support me no matter what.

I know this is a lot to digest for just one letter, which is why I’m stopping this here. Rubes, I love you forever and always, and you’ll always be my little sister. I know it took this long to finally send you a letter, and I’m sorry about that. But I want to see you again — to see Weiss, and the life you’ve built for yourself there. And I want to show you the life I’ve made with Blake.

Best wishes,

Your big sis,

Yang.

P.S. It’s been a pretty… Xiao-Long time since I’ve seen you!”

 

I have no choice but to giggle at the last line. But the giggling turns into a laugh, and the laugh turns into a guffaw, and before I know it, happy tears are streaming down my face as I hug Weiss’s shoulder.

“Your sister is quite the person,” Weiss says, lips curling into a smile.

“Yeah, she is,” I say. “It’s been five years. Five entire years, Weiss.”

She hums affirmatively, strong arms wrapped around my back, not letting me go.

“It’s been five years! She’s built a life without me. I mean, so have I, but — she’s engaged. So much has changed since then.”

“It has. I never could have imagined living here, like this, with you.”

I look up into her eyes, mine wide and teary. “Funny, that’s what I was just thinking!”

She grabs the back of my head gently and leans down to kiss me. It’s sweet and slow and affectionate. More than anything, it’s… comfortable. Familiar. We break away and I rest my forehead against hers.

"Weiss, I love you," I say suddenly. It's not the first time I've said those words. It's definitely not going to be the last. At this point, I've probably shared this exact same sentiment with Weiss hundreds, thousands of times. And I have always meant it. I mean it now, too, more than ever.

"I love you too, Ruby," she says. There was never any confusion, never any shadow of a doubt that she didn't. But the words make me immeasurably happy anyway.

There's no need for any other words. We stand there for a few moments, just embracing.

I can’t help but think that right here, in Weiss’s arms, is where I belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!!!! thanks for sticking with this fic. it took way longer than it should have. but i really like the way it turned out, tbh (even though like actually half of this was written in my cs class......oops.)
> 
> anyway, if you liked the work, consider dropping down a comment! even though there won't be any more chapters coming out, i really like hearing from you guys!!! it makes my day. and i reread the comments. and they make me real happy. so just consider it!

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, i beg of you: please write a review or give kudos... it gives me motivation to write and it makes me feel better about my writing tbh! constructive criticism is 100% ENCOURAGED!!! (pls lol help me improve)


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